


Beneath the Willow

by SakuraNeko13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Friendships, F/M, Hogwarts Fifth Year, I Will Go Down With This Ship, My First AO3 Post, Mystery Character(s), Roleplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-26 08:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2645810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraNeko13/pseuds/SakuraNeko13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Willow held its own sort of magic. Hidden in the dark where they could never see the other's face or learn their name, the Lady and her knight created a world of their own where they need never be constrained by what outsiders thought of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Voice in the Night

A soft golden light fell from the castle onto the quiet grounds. Most of the windows were dark, but a few candlelit rooms were filled with restless silhouettes. Their shadows grew dim and indistinct as they traveled to the grass below, the small lights merging with the silver tint cast by the moon. The moon's glow spread beyond the castle, shimmering across the rippling lake and sprawling lawn. It clashed against the shadows of the Forbidden Forest and retreated, seeking respite from the wild tangle of life and its impenetrable darkness. Alone in the vast clearing of the castle sat a weeping willow, and the moonlight took shelter in its gentle boughs. It landed beside her, listening as her hummed notes floated across the dim environs

He couldn't see her as he walked toward the lithe form of the tree, but snatches of melody reached him. Her voice was unimpressive, if not entirely unpleasant. Her presence had drawn him deeper into the night, when saner thoughts beckoned him back inside. He never should have left his bed to begin with, but irritation and insomnia had won against his better judgment. A few broken rules always left him feeling triumphant and satisfied, but he had only meant to revel in the sensation for a few moments before returning to safety.

Intentions faded in the face of the unexpected and unknown. He wanted to know who was out there. With every step her voice grew stronger, until the space between them no longer stole the sound.

_Willow, weep for me_  
 _Bow your tallest tree_  
 _Down to the infamous hands  
_ _Of someone no-one understands_

This was just what he needed. A silly, entitled girl pouring out her heart because she thought she was alone. As he drew closer to the voice, her form began to separate from the tree. She sat where a thick branch met the trunk, lounging as though she weren't ten feet above the ground.

_I'm not unique in this_  
 _It's based on none but my mistake_  
 _At night I lie awake  
_ _Thinking of all the hearts I'd happily break_

He couldn't see her face, even as he reached the tree. The light faded too much as it filtered through the willow's branches, leaving her features in shadow. He felt certain that she would see him, that she would stop. He had the power to make her stop, just with his presence.

_It's cruel, I know_  
 _At least they tell me so_  
 _Well someone lock me up_  
 _And throw away the key_  
 _Because I'm not ashamed, oh no  
_ _Oh, willow..._

The shadowed form continued to gaze off into the distance. Surely she must be able to see him, must have heard the rustle of branches as he brushed past them toward the trunk. But she never so much as turned her head in his direction.

_That I only write love songs_  
 _To those whom I don't love_  
 _I only reach for him  
_ _Who's tied to someone else's glove_

He couldn't stand the thought of being so simply ignored. He always drew eyes toward him, whether those eyes were filled with envy or fear. This conceited girl thought he was beneath her notice, but he was better than a silly twit singing alone in the night.

_That which I hold inside_  
 _Which I admire and deride_  
 _Which I protect and hide  
_ _Is yours_

He'd had enough.

“What do you think you're doing?” He poured venom into his words. She could ignore an adder while it lay in wait, but he'd make her feel the pain of his strike.

Her shadowed face slowly turned toward him, her motions not betraying even an ounce of surprise. A stray moonbeam lit her brief smile.

“Whatever suits my fancy. What brings you to the Willow?”

“I'm not required to answer to you,” he snapped. Her mild reaction felt like a slap in the face. She should have been shocked into near silence, embarrassed that she had been caught, mortified by his intrusion. Instead a sense of self-assured calm radiated from her, as though she belonged where she was and was merely indulging his interruption.

She turned away from him again.

_Willow, weep for me_  
 _Don't think I don't see_  
 _This life I'm living in two  
_ _But still it's something I must do_

She did not insist that he answer her. She did not turn away as an act of petulance, frustrated by his refusal. She simply dropped him from her mind in favor of the song.

He was not someone to be so simply dismissed.

_I'm not unique in this_  
 _Nor am I special, sweet or kind_  
 _I court a thousand smiles_  
 _But I keep my own to hide behind  
_ _It's cruel, I know..._

“Who do you think you are?” He was careful to keep his voice cold. She wasn't worth the irritation he felt and he refused to let it show. “There's one thing you're absolutely right about. You're not special.”

She brought her attention down on him again. “Who do I think I am?” She repeated the question as though unsure of the answer. “I could be Rose Red. I could be Juliet, Rapunzel or Alice. But that doesn't sound quite right.” She turned her body until her legs hung down from the branch. “So tonight... tonight I think I'm the Lady of Shallot, viewing the world through a mirror in her tower.”

“You're loony.”

A light giggle fell from her lips as she began to kick her feet back and forth beneath her. “That too. But who does that make you?” Her legs settled into a quick rhythm as she leaned down to examine him. “You must be Sir Lancelot, drawing me down to my death.”

Her demeanor seemed to change as she shifted her focus wholly to him. Her posture seemed warmer and more welcoming, but her voice took on a wary edge.

He wondered briefly if this girl was actually mad. What kind of person would continue with such a silly charade? The thought was quickly discarded. No one that mad would be allowed to stay at the school. “You can drop the silly act. You're not some fairy tale princess, you're a girl in a tree. It's cute that you think you can pretend real life away, but in the end you're just an idiot.”

Her head tilted to one side as she said “The Lady isn't a princess, but I suppose that's irrelevant.” Her legs extended beneath her as she slipped off her branch to one just below. “Am I a girl in a tree? Certainly. But I see no reason why I shouldn't be something else as well.” Her descent had the fluid look of an often-practiced routine. As she landed on one branch she moved on to the next until she reached the lowest. She stood in the bend where the limb met the trunk, still six feet from the grass below. “I'm not the one pretending. Everyone else is pretending that they're only one person. But sometimes I get sick of playing that game, of acting like the world is that simple.” She crouched and swung herself down the ground. Her voice gained heat as she continued, a note of derisive disappointment glowing like a lit coal. “It's cute that you think it is. Tell me, Lancelot, who do you think you are? You brought me down like you wanted. What's the next line in your script? Will you call me names until I cry? Threaten me until I'm too afraid to come here again? What will you do if your script fails you, Lancelot? If I don't give you the power you seek?”

That had been his general plan, of course. The balance had been thrown too far from his favor and he intended to fix that, but that was no business of hers. He certainly wasn't going to tell her she was right. “You think far too much of yourself. Why would I waste my time bothering with you?”

The smile she gave in response seemed far too indulging for his taste. “You've already spent your time on me, Lancelot. You came to me. If I weren't worth your time, you could easily have walked by without a word.” Her hands hooked behind the small of her back as she took a few steps toward him. As she drew closer, he could make out a mass of dark hair around her head. “You can't admit your own motivation to yourself. Don't you see? You can't cram your entire being into a single persona.”

“You don't know anything about me,” he snarled. Fingernails dug deep into his palms, his shoulders tensed. She didn't know him, but still she knew too much. A small part of his mind screamed that this situation was wrong. He wasn't in control here.

“I know that you've constrained yourself. You could answer me, if you weren't so busy making sure you played the part you've set for yourself. But any response you could give doesn't fit your paltry sense of self.” She spun and returned to the willow, choosing to settle herself against its base. “You brought me down but you haven't killed me yet, Lancelot. Perhaps you'll come back to the Willow with a new script. Then you might be able to handle the reality here.”

“Do you expect me to leave just because you told me to?” More than anything, he wanted to leave. It was his pride that demanded he refuse.

“Did I tell you to leave, Lancelot? Do what you please. It's what I do here.” The shadows around her face shifted slightly as she closed her eyes.

_Slander and dissension_  
 _They're parlor games to me  
_ _Papers overrun with lies too mad to mention_

In that short moment, he once again fell beneath her notice. He could demand that she acknowledge him again, but what would it gain him? Though he was loathe to admit it, her bizarre behavior left him speechless. Shielding his pride as best he could, he walked away from the willow.

_You say they never hurt you_  
 _No consequence, I'm happy_  
 _We're much too far above it all  
_ _But oh no, that's not true_

Even the triumph of sneaking outside undetected paled beside the strange girl. Her voice grew quieter behind him and he moved toward the warmer light of the castle.

_These wicked pastimes take their toll_  
 _These tyrant vices break your soul_  
 _Deliver me from all I am  
_ _And all I never want to be_

It couldn't end like this, walking away from a mad girl because there was nothing left to say. Such an outcome was beneath him. Despite this belief, he refused to turn around again.

_Oh, Willow, doubt me not_  
 _Rewrite this plot_  
 _For all to see_  
 _And I only write love songs  
_ _To those whom I don't love..._

She faded until she was just a melody, then a whisper, then a memory. He retraced his steps through the castle and to his room, resolving to forget what little was left of her.

 


	2. Self Control

Memory is a creature that grows or fades at its own pace. As the moon waned, he found her song drifting through his mind. Memory proved too elusive to catch, too strong to kill. Some nights he chased after it, telling himself that she had nothing to do with the choice, and listened outside the gates for a stray voice. Each time there was nothing. Nothing save a sensation that tasted too much like defeat. Still, the song quieted after a night on the grounds.

When the moon itself was little more than a memory, he found himself once more on the castle grounds. The distant stars gave too little light without their mistress; he could not see the distant willow. Still he stood and strained his ears for her voice. He was loathe to admit that he needed a better ending than what he had received, unwilling to even let himself think of why he had come out here again.

A moment more to listen. Then he could return to his bed with his reprieve from that voice. She wouldn't be out tonight. A small wind blew from the side, bringing with it the crisp smells of the forest.

A moment more.

The wind shifted, bringing a sound from the unseen tree.

_When you are sleeping, do you dream of me?_

The words were little more than a breath, as if the wind itself had spoken. Her whisper faded to a broken hum, small enough that he could pretend to hear nothing. Listening had brought him peace when she was absent. He had surely imagined her voice, he should go back inside and try again another night.

His feet traced the path to the lone willow. It was not long before her voice grew clear again.

_You know, I think it's strange_  
 _Just a little bit deranged  
_ _You think I'm gonna change to make you happy_

The voice grew until the wind no longer snatched pieces away from him. He still couldn't see her tree in the dark, but her voice was the lighthouse to guide his way. He wondered what it was guiding him to.

_If you can tell me why_  
 _I should stay around then I_  
 _Will be coming down_  
 _But until then, this means  
_ _You can see me in your dreams_

His dreams? He had seen her silhouette more times than he wished to dwell on. She never looked at him, and he never found the words to speak to her. He simply waited. It was more peaceful, perhaps, than the encounter he'd had while awake, but he found the dreams frustrating.

_I'm more than happy in my candlelight_  
 _How strange, how strange  
_ _That you should come to my dominion_

It was strange. He wanted to stay away from this girl who could see right through him, tear down his attacks with nothing but a casual thought and stand as if she were guarded by armor. He wanted nothing to do with someone he could not control.

_In the middle of the darkest night_  
 _How strange, how strange  
_ _That you should even try_

What could not be understood could not be controlled. Control granted power, and power was the one thing that determined the course of one's life. Those with power could choose their own fates and bend others to their will. Those without power were bent.

_I'm not living in an ordinary world_  
 _'Cuz I'm not your ordinary good girl  
_ _And I don't believe in playing like I know that game_

She had bent him, deflecting his intent with errant words. She counted him as nothing more than another shadow in the night, but he found himself haunted. The balance must be corrected.

_You're not heading for an ordinary love,_  
 _'Cuz I'm not the one you should think of_  
 _And I'm not a prize that you can claim  
_ _You know, I think it's strange..._

Stopping just outside the curtain of hanging branches, he took a deep breath. She was just a silly girl. He was confident and powerful.

The balance must be corrected.

The balance _would_ be corrected.

He stepped through.

“The only strange thing here is you. You must really be a fool, to make this sort of thing a habit.”

The song paused a moment, the air around her seeming to hush as she turned once again to face him. She sat in the same nook of the tree, but something about _her_ was different. Her smooth motion held all the violent grace of a wolf. Her head was held so high she barely seemed to be looking at him at all.

“If I am a fool, then you are a bigger fool to follow. You've come again, Lancelot. Did you bring something new for me? Or perhaps you mean for us to play the same scene again.”

That tone would be fitting for ordering a man's death. She was icy and distant, as though she were barely human at all. He had steeled himself for fire, but found himself in the depths of cold space. Still, he had no choice now but to press on. If he walked away, he would lose again.

“I have my own reasons for being out. It has nothing to do with you. But of course, why would someone like you understand that? It's easy to see that you're self absorbed.”

Her sigh was nearly a growl. “You waste your time, Lancelot. I see through you. You hope to win a victory with your useless words, but your cause is just as useless. If you have nothing new to offer, what is the point?”

She didn't turn away before singing again.

_You know, I think it's strange_  
 _Just a little bit deranged_  
 _You think I'm gonna change to make you happy_  
 _If you can tell me why_  
 _I should hang around, then I_  
 _Will be coming down_  
 _But until then this means  
_ _You can see me in your dreams_

Her glacial stare fanned the flame he'd been suppressing since that first night. Cool composure be damned, she was trying to taunt him!

“I don't see why _my_ behavior should satisfy any point of yours! You have no control over me! I will do whatever suits me, and there's nothing you can do about it. You're nothing. Nothing!”

_I don't come when you call_  
 _I don't try to be nice_  
 _I don't care after all  
_ _I don't take your advice_

A feral smile grew on her face as she continued, not letting his outburst cause so much as a pause. In the dark, the grin hung in the air as if existing without body. What could she possibly be so happy about?

“If you had any idea who you were dealing with, you'd _run_. The only reason you act so brave is because you're hiding! You feel safe because nobody can see your face. You're really just a coward!”

_I don't answer your prayers_  
 _I don't do as you say_  
 _Love, if you really care  
_ _You better find another way_

How much more could he be expected to take?

“What do you _want_ from me?” It just burst out before he could stop it. He could feel his cheeks redden, feel his pride tear away from his grasp.

Her grin merely widened. “Want? What could I possibly want from you, Lancelot? Your actions have no effect on me, so I wouldn't waste my energy wanting to change it.” At last, she turned away from him; the glint of her smile was obscured by shadow. “You could leave, and I will do what I have always done. You could stay and continue to be angry with me; I admit, that's amusing in its own way.”

His clenched teeth were the only thing that stopped another outburst. He was ill used to being made fun of, especially in such a blunt manner. He could feel his fists shake. “Why do you keep calling me that? It's not my name.” His voice wavered under the strain of not shouting.

“What, Lancelot? It seems as good a name as any, don't you think? Perhaps a little more grand than a lost puppy deserves. If you like, I'll think of something more fitting.”

“I'm not some _pet_ for you to name. I have my own.”

“Do you really? Just one? What a shame. Well, I have given you another. Not many people have a second name, you know. You should be honored.”

Her pose seemed simultaneously relaxed and primed, as if she were ready for something to happen. The silence stretched on without so much as a twitch.

He thought she must be as inhuman as she seemed to bear such quiet.

“What are you waiting for?”

At last, she moved. Her head tilted smoothly to one side “Hmm?”

“You say you don't want anything. If that's true, what is it you're waiting for?

He held himself still, unwilling to shift under that constant stare. For a moment, he thought that she would never answer him. But the moment passed and she barked out a loud laugh.

“Perhaps you're more observant than I thought, Lancelot. I suppose I should be honest. That's the whole idea, isn't it?”

Her gaze turned to the branches above her. He simply waited for her to speak again; her answer might give him what he needed to make up for him losing his composure.

Her demeanor shifted, her words becoming clipped and efficient. “I have no right to be disappointed in you, Lancelot. I have no responsibility to you, nor you to me. But I _am_ disappointed. You came all the way out here, _twice_ , and for what? You're here to try and feed your ego, and you just don't see it.”

“See what?”

“The _purpose_ of being here. Haven't you ever wished you weren't boxed in by your own life, by the accumulation of the choices you've made and the decisions that were made for you? There are so many people you could have been, so many different ways your life could have gone. But we're all stuck inside this one possibility.”

Something about her tone now, about the way she sighed, seemed oddly familiar to him. Had he met her before? She had seemed so alien in her previous persona. If he kept her talking, he might be able to figure it out.

“I can't say I ever thought about it.”

“Maybe you should.” She shifted back, cold and hard as wild cat. “Maybe then you'd understand the chance the Willow offers.”

The sense of familiarity was gone again, as quickly as if covered by a mask. He didn't know where he could go now. Everything he tried had failed; she was unfazed by insult or threat.

“And what chance is that, exactly?”

“The chance to dabble in the parts of you that you discard. Your secret thoughts and unwanted feelings. The only reason you reject them is because they don't fit your definition of yourself – if you let yourself discard definition, you start to realize that it all fits.”

“You must know how crazy that sounds.”

For just a moment, she softened. “Of course I do. But if you really understood how liberating it feels, you wouldn't care that it's crazy.”

“What makes you think that I need to be liberated?”

She smiled again, a conspiratorial grin that seemed out of place on a face that had been baring feral teeth only minutes ago. “I was honest with you, Lancelot. Why don't you be honest with me? What is it that _you_ want?”

The sudden shift threw him off-balance for a moment. What did that have to do with his question? “That's my own business.”

A soft sigh drifted down from the willow's boughs. “The same answer as always. If you prefer, I'll answer for you. You feel slighted, because I haven't responded to all your baiting. You want to pay me back for not reacting to you.” She was quiet for a moment, but he couldn't find the words to tell her she was wrong. “It's obvious, really. You get more flustered every time you insult me, even though I've done nothing that ought to upset you. You're easy to read, because you won't accept anything that doesn't fit your current understanding of reality.” She shifted so that her whole body was facing him, spreading her arms wide. “Imagine what it would be like if you accepted everything. If you never thought of how things should or shouldn't be. There would be no need to for you to feel that you had somehow failed – because you would understand that you haven't been slighted just because something was different from your expectations.”

Her face tilted up as her hands floated down to her lap. “Imagine what you could learn about yourself. You could be capable of more than you realize, have more layers, more complexity than you've ever thought. Why would anyone want to confine themselves to a single set of expectations?”

What a bizarre girl. She continued gazing toward the sky, enraptured by her ridiculous idea. It gave him time to gather himself. He'd hoped that she'd reveal something about herself that he could use, but instead she had handed him a new tactic. He was certain it was the secret to her immunity.

“And what if you are right?,” he asked. “If what you say is true, why would you only indulge your idea here?”

She shook her head as if bringing herself back to the real world. “I'm surprised you need to ask. As much as I gain from it, your initial thought was that I was crazy. If I never filtered anything, I would be unable to function in the real world.” She noticed his triumphant grin and smiled back. “That doesn't mean it's worthless. As I said, you learn things you never knew about yourself. You have no idea how much strength the Willow has given me. It may not be practical to never filter yourself, but always forcing your unwanted thoughts down has its own dangers. You find yourself acting on things you're unaware of, because you wouldn't let yourself look at them. If you take the time to let yourself feel and think everything, then you hide nothing from yourself. If you understand everything inside of you, then you have ultimate self-control.”

“And that's what your little fantasy about? Self-control?”

A chime-like laugh fell from the willow. “That's one way of putting it.”

“So what happened to your earlier 'persona'?

“Am I required to stick to one per night?”

“I suppose not.” He turned away from the tree to look back to the castle. If she was right... “You're more self-assured than I'd like, but I'll think about what you said.” If she was right, he could have her power, her resilience. What could he do with something like that? He moved toward the fringe of hanging branches.

“You're one to talk. You're the one who thinks you're above everything. Anyway, I hope you find what you're really looking for.”

He froze. “I thought you already told me what I was looking for.”

“What you think you're looking for and what you're actually after aren't always the same. Good night, Lancelot.”

_Supernatural, yes it's true_  
 _Tell me, what are you gonna do_  
 _About this love_  
 _Are you strong enough_  
 _To love me for the way I am_  
 _I don't think you understand  
_ _That you can't hold me in your hand_

He turned back to her and stood for a moment, listening to her voice as she fell smoothly back into the song, as if she had never been interrupted.

No, that wasn't quite right. She wasn't ignoring their exchange, she simply wasn't letting it affect the present moment. Maybe there was something to her idea.

_If you want me_  
 _You had better find a way_  
 _To show me_  
 _But don't you think you know me_  
 _Hey, hey_  
 _'Cuz I'm not looking for a boy to call my own  
_ _I'll do just fine alone_

As he moved from the willow's base, he called over his shoulder. “When will you be here next?”

She laughed. “Why, would you like me to write you a love song by then?”

_Just a little bit deranged  
_ _You think I'm gonna change to make you happy_

As he approached the castle, his mind raced. Part of him rejected the whole thing outright – but another part felt that there was some truth to it. He had a lot to think on before meeting her again.

And there was one other thing... as his eyes had adjusted to the near-moonless night, as her form became more clear, she started to look more and more familiar. He knew her, somehow. If he could see her just a little better, he was sure he could figure out who she was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for Chapter 2 is How Strange by Emilie Autumn


	3. Childhood Games

In the days that followed, he found her idea rolling back and forth through his mind.

_If you take the time to let yourself feel and think everything, then you hide nothing from yourself. If you understand everything inside of you, then you have ultimate self-control._

He always thought that he  _did_  have ultimate self-control. Yet in both his encounters, he had been the one left flustered. There was definitely some strange power she had, an otherworldly composure that he had been unable to break, while his own crumbled like burnt paper. Would it be worthwhile to indulge in madness, if it could make him invincible?

He tried to tell himself that the idea was silly and didn't appeal to him at all. It was beneath him to seek guidance from a madwoman. As his interest in returning to the Willow increased, he told himself that he had one true purpose – to find out who she was. With an appropriate motivation decided on, he finally made a decision.

Every night that he could, he would sneak out to the grounds. He often worried that the nights he was unable to leave were the very nights that she was there, that he was missing his opportunity. The nights that he found himself in the growing moonlight but heard nothing, the disappointment felt almost like a blow. Nearly two weeks later, when the moon was little more than half full, he finally caught a wisp of melody.

_If you like, we could play a game  
_ _Let's pretend that we are the same..._

He made his way quickly to the Willow, once again using her voice as a beacon to guide him through the darkness.

_But you will have to look much closer  
_ _Than you do, closer than you do_

As her voice grew, he heard the subtle differences in her song. Her voice was sweet and vaguely childlike, contrasting with the darker tones he had heard her use before.

_And I'm far too tired to stay here anymore_  
 _And I don't care what you think anyway_  
 _'Cause I think you were wrong about me  
_ _Yeah what if you were, what if you were?_

He stopped for a moment outside the branches, listening. After taking a deep breathe, he made his way inside.

For once, she acknowledged him as soon as he appeared. He heard a small gasp as she jumped up from her seat on the branch. She stepped toward the trunk, causing her form to fuse with it in the dark.

"Lancelot? Is that you?"

She sounded surprised, even a little...  _scared_. He hardly knew what to make of it. He briefly thought of trying one more time to upset her the usual way, but she would most likely switch to a new persona if he tried.

Instead, he called back, "Since that what you seem intent on calling me... Yes, I suppose it's me."

"I wasn't sure I'd see you here again. Why did you come back?" She sounded so shy, he couldn't help but be unsettled. He thought he had prepared himself from the unexpected, but this was almost the opposite of what she had been before. He found himself feeling oddly nervous.

He tried to hide it, doing his best to use a flippant, care-free tone. "I thought about what you said, and decided to try it."

In what little moonlight filtered through the Willow's boughs, he saw a smile form beneath her dark curls. This new smile was warm and inviting, accompanied by a girlish giggle. She once again lowered herself down onto the branch. "Really? Oh, I almost don't know what to do with myself. I've never had anyone else here before."

"What are you talking about? This is the third time now."

"Oh, but that doesn't  _count_. You weren't really here at the Willow... you were standing just outside."

Standing just outside of  _what_ , exactly? He shook his head, deciding not to delve into that particular bit of insanity. "Well, now that I'm here... now what?"

"Hmm... To be honest, Lancelot, I'm not really sure! It comes so naturally to me... I suppose the best start is just to be honest."

"Honest..." Honesty had never been his strong point. He'd always dealt in well-crafted facades, saying what he thought would achieve his end rather than what he really thought. "Well, to start, what about your name? I have nothing to call you."

"Oh, but I haven't decided quite who I am tonight... but you are right, I do need a name. Let me think."

She once again began her descent from the tree. He doubted she would give him her real name, not when she seemed so disdainful of reality in general. As she came down toward him he said, "The first night I was here, you said you were the lady of... something. I don't remember what."

"Shallot," she said as her feet hit the ground. "But that makes a terrible name. I could just be the Lady, til I decide who I am for the night." She smiled again. "It's perfect! The Lady and Sir Lancelot. Doesn't it sound lovely?"

He shifted uncomfortably. This was far too  _weird_. "If you say so..." He was starting to wonder whether this was truly a good idea. As out of place as he had felt before, trying to play along was turning out to be even more discomfiting. It felt like one of those terrible dreams where you had to make a presentation at the Ministry and you couldn't even remember what it was about. It was the pressure to do something, but having no idea how to start.

"Don't think about it so much," she advised. "You can't do anything wrong."

"I think that's exactly what makes it so hard."

She froze for a moment, and then a bell-like laugh fell from her lips. "I suppose you're right. It's hard to know where to begin when anything imaginable is an option, isn't it?" She glanced up, putting a finger along the side of her jaw. "Well, to make things easier, we could start playing a game."

"A game?"

She nodded. "We could slay a dragon, storm an enemy castle, fight a war. Or anything else you can think of."

Even when she was pretending to be vulnerable, she still turned him on his head. "That… sounds like the sort of thing little kids do."

"Oh, don't say things like that, Lancelot! It's something children do because they aren't afraid of what everyone else will think. I promise, it doesn't become less fun just because you're older." In a few quick steps, she was beside him, vague features looking oh-so familiar – she grabbed his wrist and pulled him further into the shadows of the tree, until her face was nothing but a dark space beneath her hair. "You wanted a way to start, didn't you? Play a game, like when you were a child. It'll be familiar, and you can let go of all the thoughts in your head that tell you it's wrong. It'll be easier once you do."

A large part of his mind was screaming that she'd laugh at him if he tried to play along, but her encouraging smiles seemed so genuine. If this was what it took to gain her impenetrable armor, then it would be worth it in the end… and he had been so close to making out her face.

"A game, like when I was a child… let me think." He pulled away from her and sat down on the grass. "My favorite game was being a Prince, in some far off land."

"Prince Charming? Or an evil prince?"

"Prince Charming, of course."

"Well then, Prince Lancelot…" She went through the motions of a deep curtsy, though they looked odd without a skirt. "Who am I, then?"

She had been right. Though his doubt about whether or not he  _should_ be doing something so juvenile still lingered in his mind, starting with this game made it easier to proceed. "You, my Lady," he began, stumbling a bit over the title, "are the court bard." In his childhood games there had always been a Princess, but there was a limit to how much he was willing to share.

"Of course, Your Highness. And what is on your royal agenda today?"

"The castle is being attacked. Negotiations with centaurs in the nearby forest went sour, and they've declared war." He stood, letting the old fantasy run through him. However, a stray thought made him freeze. "But I suppose that doesn't leave much for you to do..."

"Don't worry about me, my Prince. I'm skilled with a bow an arrow. But if we're going to defend against a centaur army, we should make our way to the ramparts." She ran back to the trunk of the tree. Almost quicker than he could believe, she had jumped to grab the lowest branch and swung herself on top of it. "Come on, we must hurry. Unless they break through the barricades, we won't be able to fight them down here."

He eyed the branch warily. "I don't think it's as easy to get up there as you make it look."

"It's alright. I'll help you, and even if you fall it's not going to hurt."

"It's not getting hurt that I'm worried about," he muttered. He was more concerned about looking like an idiot while he scrambled up. Still, if he was going to do this he might as well go all the way. "Just move out of the way so I have room to swing up."

He moved until he was standing in front of the branch. He was taller than her, so he didn't need jump to get a proper grip. He took a deep breath, then pulled himself up.

"See, it's not difficult. Now, I believe the armory is on the second floor, so we should grab weapons before we go any higher." She stood, using a branch above her to keep her balance, and reached into the empty darkness. "A bow for me, of course, and a scimitar just in case. What do you want?" As she spoke, she went through the motions of sheathing a sword and slinging a quiver on her back.

"Crossbow. And I prefer a broadsword." He mimicked her, imagining that he was taking weapons from the old armory back home. He hung the crossbows from his hip and strapped the sword across his back. "Come on, I need to be able to see what's going on out there."

The branches were fairly thick, making the ascent simple. As he climbed higher into the tree, he occasionally glanced back and found her following him easily.

"Don't go any higher, it's not stable."

Her voice surprised him. He glanced down, realizing that they more than twice as high as her normal perch. The branches were thick around them, which made him feel less worried about falling. "Well, I should certainly be able to keep an eye on everything from here. The good thing about centaurs is you can be sure they won't try to scale the walls... we just need to worry about the doors."

"And the arrows, of course. That's the bad thing about centaurs. Speaking of which..." She ducked down low, clutching an adjacent branch. "That was close." She aimed her bow, firing towards the ground below. "Is there anything we can do other than try to thin them out?"

He crouched down as well, looking down through the gaps in the branches and preparing to use his crossbow. "If they were closer to the walls, we could pour boiling pitch down the sides, but as it is we wouldn't hit them."

"I'm afraid they have the advantage then, m'Lord. We only have the supplies stored in the castle, they can easily wait us out."

"You're right..." He thought for a moment. He could take some of what he said earlier back, but it somehow felt like cheating. What was the best way out of this mess? "I may have to lead the men out to fight them in open battle."

She inhaled sharply. "That's going to be costly. There's an awful lot of them." She drew another arrow from her quiver, aiming carefully. "Do we have enough men for a direct attack?" Her hand released the arrow, and moved so she was completely hidden by branches.

"I'm not sure, but I don't know what else we can try." He leaned farther out, getting a better look at the ground. "There's something wrong. I don't see any battering rams... why aren't they trying to get in?"

She peered through the branches. "Centaurs are patient. Maybe they know you'll come to them."

He shook his head. "Or maybe... My Lady, look! The doors are opening... someone's letting them in!"

"We have traitors in the castle," she hissed.

"Look out!" he shouted, turning quickly. He pulled the broadsword from its sheath on his back, bringing it in front of him to counter. "My own men are attacking us!"

She turned around as well, reaching for the sword at her hip. "We need to get back down as quickly as possible!"

The longer they went on, the more he could see it. There were some men who were attacking them, others who were rushing to help. The Prince and his Bard gathered those were still loyal as they descended through the castle, often stopping to fight a group of rebels.

On the lowest branch, the Bard held out a hand to stop him. "It's not just rebels down there, we're going to have to deal with the centaurs as well."

"True, but most of my men are down here as well. We'll have more numbers on our side, and we know this castle far better than they do."

She nodded to him, and in synchrony they jumped to the ground below.

With the greater part of the Prince's army beside them, it didn't take long to drive the invaders back. When the centaurs had left the castle and they gates were once again closed, they climbed back to the top of the castle to observe.

The Prince breathed a sigh of relief. "It looks like they're heading back to the forest. It's over, for now at least." He leaned against the trunk and laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked the Bard.

"You were right. It's been so many years since I've done this... but it's still fun. And the whole time, you didn't laugh at me."

"Why would I do something like that? I could end up beheaded for being so rude."

The Bard's comment only made him laugh harder. "Well, the battle is over. I think we all need a song, to lift our spirits."

"Of course. What else are bards for? What would you like to hear, my Prince?"

"I'd like to hear the rest of that song from earlier," said the Prince with a soft smile. "Not up hear, though. Let's go down to the grand hall, that's the proper spot for a celebration."

Minutes later she was settled on her usual branch, while he sprawled lazily on another beside it.

Without preamble, she began her song again. The Prince grinned as she made it past the pieces he had heard before.

_What if I'm a snowstorm burning_  
 _What if I'm a world unturning  
_ _What if I'm an ocean, far too shallow, much to deep_

Had he really thought that she was a poor singer? Her quiet voice seemed to fit the peaceful night around them. Anywhere else, he might not think she sounded lovely, but here...

_What if I'm the kindest demon_  
 _Something you may not believe in  
_ _What if I'm a siren, singing gentlemen to sleep_

He let go of the game he had been playing. He wasn't a prince, though perhaps he deserved to be. But even after he felt like himself, he couldn't let go of the new way that he saw her.

_I know you've got it figured out_  
 _Tell me what I am all about_  
 _And I just might learn a thing or two_  
 _hundred about you, baby about you_  
 _I'm the end of your telescope_  
 _I don't change just to suit your vision_  
 _For I am bound by a fraying rope  
_ _Around my hands, tied around my hands_

He'd had more fun tonight than he'd let himself have in quite some time. And it wasn't something he would have been able to do anywhere else. Maybe there was some strange kind of magic about this spot, about her. In some ways, he felt more like himself than ever.

_And you close your eyes when I say I'm breaking free_  
 _And put your hands over both your ears_  
 _Because you cannot stand to believe I'm not_  
 _The perfect girl you thought  
_ _Well what have I got to lose?_

No expectations. No father to tell him how his actions reflected on his family, no mother to worry how he was affecting his future, no friends to feel embarrassed for him if he slipped up or enemies to drink up his mistakes hungrily.

_What if I'm a crowded desert_  
 _Too much pain with little pleasure_  
 _What if I'm the nicest place you'd never want to go_  
 _What if I don't know who I am_  
 _Would that keep us both from trying  
_ _To find out, and when you have, be sure to let me know..._

"Well, my Lady, you were right about a few things at least."

"Just a few? Tell me Lancelot, where was I wrong?"

"Well, it was just a game of pretend after all. I don't see how I learned anything about myself at all."

"Oh really?" She wrapped her arms and legs around her branch, swinging around so she dangled from the underside. "Tell me, were you thinking about what a prince would do in those situations, or did you just do what came naturally?"

"I didn't think about it that much."

"So, if you  _were_  a prince whose castle was under siege, that is what you would do. Now you know."

"I suppose you're right," he said with a laugh.

At first she laughed along with him, but then she stopped short, looking at him oddly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I need to go, Lancelot." She started making her way down the branches.

He quickly followed. "What? Why? Hold on, will you?"

When his feet touched the grass, she was already almost to the edge of the Willow's perimeter. She turned around to face him.

"My eyes are adjusting too much, Lancelot. I'm starting to see more than just your blonde hair. I need to leave."

"You really don't want to know who I am, do you?"

"Your name is like the sun to me, Lancelot." Enough light filtered through the branches for him to catch her smile. "It doesn't belong in this place."

He shook his head in disbelief. He might never get used to how  _odd_  she was. "Will you at least tell me when you'll be here again?"

"Why, would you like me to write you a love song by then?"

"No. I just don't want to be sneaking out every night, trying to catch you."

"I normally just come when the mood strikes me... but if you like, we can meet again a week from tonight." Without waiting for an answer, the Lady turned and ran back towards the castle.

"One week..." he whispered to himself. "Alright." She was already out of sight as he started to make his own way across the grounds. "My eyes were adjusting too. I'm  _sure_  that I know you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for Chapter 3 is What If by Emilie Autumn


	4. Love Songs

The Lady held true to her promise, appearing at the Willow a week later. As months passed and the world turned cold, they met beneath its branches many times. Lancelot slowly grew more comfortable in its shadow, and quickly learned to take on a new persona as easily as the Lady herself. Every night she would leave, saying that she could see too much of his face, and always he asked when he would see her again.

The Lady always replied, "Why, would you like me to write you a love song by then?"

Sometimes the question was coy and flirtatious, sometimes it was cool and disdainful. But it was always part of her goodbye, a teasing challenge left behind for her gallant knight.

The last night he had seen her, he had finally risen to the bait. "Would that song be as beautiful as the others you sing, my Lady?"

She had paused, the slight darkness of a blush appearing on her cheeks. "Eight days," she said in the instant before she rushed away.

Eight days of moving through the monotony of daytime life, waiting for his next chance to sit with her beneath the Willow. Though he tried to keep it from his mind, he found himself wondering if she  _would_  write him a love song. If she did, would he know it was for him? He did not know the origin of the Lady's songs, and she had sung many songs about romance or passion to guide him to the Willow.

Would she write a new one for him? Did he want her to?

He carefully arranged his affairs so no one would miss him that night, grabbing a thick cloak before moving through the castle and out into the beckoning night. A light layer of snow littered the ground, but thoughts of the Lady and their Willow kept him from feeling the chill in the air.

With the cold holding the world still, her call came crystal clear. She was calling him, calling Lancelot.

_And the wind, I know it's cold_

He settled into himself as he walked to the willow, standing stark against the white ground. With the snow reflecting what little light there was, everything looked so much clearer than it had in the shadowed fall.

_She looks up to the mirrored glass_  
 _She sees a handsome horse and rider pass_  
 _She says, That man's gonna be my death  
_ _'Cause he's all I ever wanted in my life_

He dropped everything he'd been and felt in the days he had been away from the Willow, becoming himself again – becoming Lancelot. His Lady was waiting. He saw her footprints in the snow, guiding him to her.

_And I know he doesn't know my name_  
 _And that all the girls are all the same to him_  
 _But still I've got to get out of this place  
_ _'Cause I don't think I can face another night_

Lancelot slowed as he listened to her song. Whether he wished the Lady would write him a love song or not, he still hoped this was not written for him. She sounded so sad.

_Where I'm half sick of shadows_  
 _And I can't see the sky_  
 _Everyone else can watch as the tide comes in  
_ _So why can't I_

He could easily see her now, seated on her usual branch as if it were a throne, face turned up toward the moon.

_And it's raining_  
 _And the stars are falling from the sky_  
 _And the wind...  
_ _And the wind, I know it's cold_

Her silhouette seemed dim against the night sky, but he could imagine her colors – chestnut curls and chocolate eyes, the thick cloak shielding her figure but unable to ever hide her wide smile.

_I've been waiting for the day_  
 _I will surely die_  
 _And it's here_  
 _And it's here, for I've been told_  
 _That I'll die before I'm old  
_ _And the wind I know it's cold -_

There was no smile on his Lady's face now. He picked up his pace again, nearly running the remaining distance to the Willow's sparse curtain.

_But there's willow trees_  
 _And little breezes_  
 _Waves and walls and flowers_  
 _And there's moonlight_  
 _Every single night  
_ _As I'm locked in these towers..._

"My Lady?"

"Lancelot. I wondered when you'd come."

Her voice sound subdued, as though something heavy weighed on her mind. As often as they had spoken in their time together, she was never willing to discuss life outside the Willow – was it those things that were upsetting her now, or had something wrong in their sanctuary?

"I'm sorry if I've left you waiting, my Lady. I do hope you'll forgive me." He accompanied the formal apology with a deep bow. Such things had often delighted her in the past, and the young knight wanted nothing more that to raise her spirits. "Will you come down?"

"I don't know, Lancelot. It seems safer to me up here."

"Then let me join you."

It took him little time to scale the Willow's trunk. In the many nights he'd spent in its branches he had become adept at navigating the living maze. He settled himself on the adjacent branch, where he had often listened to her sing.

When Lancelot turned to face her, the Lady was regarding him coldly. This on its own was not so odd, but he still felt concerned. Trying to lighten the mood, he said "I hope you're not the Queen of Hearts tonight. I'm rather fond of my head."

Her cold demeanor break down, but the smile he received still wasn't quite right. "No, I'm no queen. Of hearts or anything else. They're pesky things, anyway, why would anyone want to be the ruler of them?"

"Diamonds are far better, in my opinion." Lancelot watched her turn her face away again, looking up at the sky as if it held the answer to some question hidden inside her. "I think we should go to a ball. A bit of dancing might be what my Lady needs to cheer her up."

Finally, she laughed. "You've never been interested in cheering me up, Lancelot."

"You've never seemed as though you were truly sad."

She turned to him in wide-eyed shock, sitting in silence for a moment before sighing. "You'll be the death of me, Lancelot."

"Oh? Are we enemies tonight, then? If so, please warn me before going for your blade; last time, I nearly jumped out of the tree from shock. That would have  _really_  been the death of me."

"You're sounding more like a court jester than a knight."

"If my Lady requires a jester, then that is what I shall be." He broke a few sticks from the tree and stood on his branch, making an attempt to juggle. Though the Lady seemed to be doing her best to remain somber, a giggle escaped each time one of his 'batons' dropped to the ground. "Anything to hear your laugh."

"Lancelot, why do you keep coming back?"

He nearly lost his balance before grabbing a branch above him. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Tell me anyway."

"Well..." Lancelot settled himself down on his branch again. "It's just so  _different_  from regular life. Everything I could never do there, I can here. I've explored the world with you. Why wouldn't I come back?"

"The fact that it's different was exactly what you hated about it."

His eyes settled heavily on her, gray irises shining. They had never mentioned those first two nights, when a boy ventured to the Willow with the intent to destroy it. "My Lady, you shouldn't listen to what  _he_  said.  _He_  isn't Lancelot, and you should  _never_  give his words so much as a Knut's worth of your time."

"Don't do that, Lancelot. It's a lie, and you know it – he was as much you as anything else."

Lancelot glanced down at his feet. "It doesn't feel that way. I'm not sure he was me at all.  _This_  is me. All of me. Maybe he's in here somewhere, but he's so small. He's what I become when I've been shrunken down past all recognition."

"Do you think he still hates me?"

"I don't know what he feels about you, my Lady. I've never asked him. Why should I care? I'm the only one who gets to see you."

"And how do  _you_  feel about me?"

He slowly raised his eyes back to her. "I'm your knight. I'll defend you from anything. Including him."

"I don't need to be protected, Lancelot."

"I know that. I still want to."

For a long moment, they were both quiet. He gazed up at the moon, wondering what had come over his Lady. The conversation seemed to have run dangerously close to taboo. What was worrying her? Did she think he was going to abandon this place?

She started humming the melody of the sad song she had been singing earlier. Her voice always seemed to clear away the cobwebs from the little-used pieces of his soul, and even in his worry for her he could not help but love that voice. Even if her siren song pulled him down into ruin, he didn't think he could ever regret having heard it. This time here was a shield, guarding him against the dangers of the day – guarding him from himself.

"Do you consider yourself a danger, then, Lancelot?"

"Did I say that out loud...?"

"Yes, but I do understand. I always felt the same way. The Willow was a way to make sure that no piece of me could waste away. It's so easy to kill pieces of yourself with the choices that you make out there."

Lancelot nodded. "I'm surprised it wasn't too late for me."

"Do you think everyone could be this happy, if they had somewhere like this to go?"

He looked over at her, but the Lady wouldn't meet his gaze. "Are you happy, then?"

"Yes. I suppose that's what scares me."

Lancelot moved off of his branch to sit beside her. "That isn't something you should be afraid of."

"Perhaps we should have that ball after all." The Lady slipped from the branch, making her way to the base of the tree. Lancelot had little choice but to follow.

For a while, they danced among the twisting shadows of the leafless Willow, taking turns providing music. He had hoped that a familiar game might ease that odd sadness, but she remained unchanged.

Finally, he said, "What is it that's upsetting you?"

The Lady stepped away from him. "Lancelot, what if this isn't just pretend anymore?"

"Was it ever just pretend? I always understood that it was real. Real in a different way than usual, perhaps, but that doesn't mean anything we've done is a lie." He reached out his hand to her, hoping she'd come back to dance with him. Instead, she backed farther away.

"Maybe you're right. Still, I should go."

"Go? It's still so early. Maybe my Lady's eyes are super-human, but I can hardly see a thing." Lancelot felt a small pang of guilt for the lie, but he wasn't ready for the night to be over.

"It just doesn't feel right tonight. We can meet again in four days, alright? Goodbye."

As she turned away, he called out to her. "Wait! Aren't you going to offer to write me a love song?"

That sad smile returned to her face. "I don't have it in me to tease you, Lancelot." Without another word, she walked away.

His Lady had talked about their lives beyond the Willow, left early, skipped her usual goodbye...

Something had gone terribly wrong, but he had no idea what might have changed. For the first time since he had embraced the world of the Willow, he felt powerless.


	5. The Sun on the Willow

It was the fourth day after the Lady had left Lancelot to guess at her thoughts, and Hermione Granger was leaving History of Magic with her two best friends.

“Alright, I'll admit it, I fell asleep again,” said Ron. “But honestly, with everything _else_ we have to deal with, I don't see why they think _history_ should be important.”

“The curriculum doesn't change based on a student's personal life, Ron,” Hermione said. In truth, she was only halfway paying attention to his complaints. The last few days she had been quite absent-minded, even forgetting to turn in a homework assignment for charms class.

“Well, Ron, I hope you slept well. If Snape catches you drifting off, the lot of us will be in for it.” Harry's eyes stared straight forward as he took measured strides toward the dungeons. He had little patience these days for trivial complaints. Hermione could tell he was growing restless, but at least most days still passed by in the usual way.

“Snape's a twit,” Ron murmured under his breath.

They chatted about inconsequential things, class assignments and spells they needed to learn, as they made their way through the castle. But Hermione's thoughts drifted.

_Would you like me to write you a love song by then?_

The question had always been a joke, playing on a line from the first song he'd heard her sing. He always said no, or ignored the question entirely. She thought he understood that it was just part of the game.

But when his answer had changed, she had come to the realization that she _could_ write a song for him. But of course, his answer had just been a joke as well. It was hard for her, realizing that she was beginning to feel something for that shape in the shadows – the boy who's name she did not know, and could never ask for.

Lancelot probably no idea how much the things he had said that last night had hurt. In his guise of a knight, he had said that he wanted to protect her, and if she hadn't known it was a game she might have thought he had feelings for her as well. And he kept on, saying that everything between them was real. It was more than she could take.

She was being silly, anyway. She couldn't fall for someone she'd never even seen.

So she did her best to keep her mind on the conversation. There was no point thinking about any of this now.

When they arrived in the dungeon, the Slytherins were gathered against the back wall, talking quietly among themselves. A few turned to look as the trio came through the room, but most were preoccupied with their plotting.

Hermione saw something out of the corner of her eye as she walked toward her seat. She turned to Harry and Ron, saying “Go sit down, I need to see something real quick,” before walking over to the desk that had caught her attention.

Sitting on top of the desk was a pencil drawing, showing two shadowed figures standing beneath a willow tree. The first figure was tall with light hair, the second surrounded by a shroud of dark curls... they were the Lady and Lancelot, that was _her_ Willow. And there was only one person who could have drawn it, who would know about those nights on the castle grounds.

“What are you doing at my desk?” Said a familiar voice behind her.

“Lancelot?” she asked, turning to face the voice.

In the split second after Hermione started to move, she realized her mistake, but it was too late to stop. She had worked so hard to never know who he was, but in just a moment she would see the face of -

Draco Malfoy arched up one eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

A few giggles came from the group of Slytherins behind him. Hermione held herself still for a moment, trying to prevent herself from crying out. His name seared through her mind, a merciless sun that burned away the cool night hidden in her core. Ruined, it was all ruined... but she had to say something. Whispers were popping up around the room.

“Just a story the drawing reminded me of... Sorry...” A blush creeped up Hermione's face. She had just _apologized_ to Malfoy. The Slytherins' giggles turned into full blown laughter, speckled with comments about Mudbloods knowing their place. She walked back to her own seat, trying to keep her shoulders squared and her head high, far too aware of the Slytherins' glee.

The only one not laughing was Malfoy himself. He simply watched her with an intense gaze that dug into her back like an electrified wire.

Her two best friends stared at her, open-mouthed in shock. Ron moved his mouth as though trying to find words, before finally saying, “What in bloody hell was _that_ about, Hermione?”

She just shook her head, pretending to read her book until class began. A fire had sprung up in her mind, a fire that was starting to scorch the roots of her beloved Willow. She knew his name, and she had no doubt the he knew hers. Those familiar gray eyes lingered in her mind's eye, mocking her.

It was all over.

But of course, part of her had known for some time now. She had always seen too much before she finally tore herself away. She had hidden it from her consciousness, but she had recognized that face in the dark. How could she have admitted it to herself, when her secret world hung in such a precarious balance? And with all the secrets ruined, what would become of that world? How could she accept knowing that she had shared something so precious with someone she had always hated?

For the rest of the day, she said little. She sat in the common room late into the night, pretending to study. Everyone else left her to her work and eventually went to bed. When she was alone, she took her cloak and left.

The passages she had found on the Marauder's Map served her well, letting her slip outside quickly and unseen. She ran to her Willow, throwing herself up into its branches.

She settled herself on her branch, reaching desperately for the Lady, for the armor she provided. She could not quite find that place within herself, Hermione's doubts kept getting in the way.

_You can see that I swim_  
 _Through the sea of painful_  
 _You have watched as I pulled  
_ _Myself from the floor_

It had been risky to come out. He might bring a teacher to catch her out of bed. She tried not to think about what punishment she might get. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be fair – she _needed_ this.

_And you were there when I_  
 _Built my tower like pebbles in the rain_  
 _Trying to balance all that I had left  
_ _With what I didn't have anymore_

Of course, he might not come at all. He wasn't Lancelot anymore, after all.

_Would you tear my castle down_  
 _Stone by stone_  
 _And let the wind run through my windows  
_ _Til there is nothing left but a battered rose_

In the distance, a dark shape emerged, highlighted against the snow. The moon, now at its fullest, gleamed in his pale blonde hair. He was alone.

At least there was that to be thankful for. But she wasn't sure what to expect any more.

_You were so devoted_  
 _Your love was unconditional_  
 _You were self-promoted  
_ _I never asked you_

With the inevitable confrontation drawing closer, the Lady finally took control. This was _her_ world. Even if it ended up in ashes, she would remain unscathed. She was untouchable.

At least, she hoped she was.

_You were my everything_  
 _My apparitional faith_  
 _Where are you when I am  
_ _Screaming to my god, what am I coming to_

The shadow that was once Lancelot pushed past Willow's tendrils, past the gates into the Lady's castle.

_Would you tear my castle down  
_ _Stone by stone..._

“My Lady?” The figure swept into a deep bow, complete with a flourish of his cape. It was almost comically dramatic.

“Are you still pretending to be Lancelot, then?” Her voice was calm and cold as the falling snow.

“Pretending? Not any more than usual.”

“Enough games. You know who I really am, don't you?”

“You're the Lady. There's nothing else to know.”

“Just stop.” She made her way down the tree, slightly surprised that he remained silent through her descent. “How can you act as though everything is the same?”

“Why should it have changed?”

“Because I know who you are when you're not Lancelot. And you must know who I am when I'm not the Lady. I suppose we could try to go on as we have the past few months, but I know it's destined to fall apart.”

He watched her silently. She wondered what he was thinking, why he was still playing along – why he ever had.

“Did you ever read the Lady of Shallot?” she asked. “When she sees Lancelot, her fate is sealed. And by the time he sees her face, she is already dead. So I suppose that means it's time.”

“Time for what?”

“You've become too tied to this place. You're not only Lancelot, you're the Willow as well. That which I hold inside, which I admire and deride, which I protect and hide...” She stepped closer to him. “Is yours, to do with as you will. If you choose to end this fantasy, so be it. The Lady was always destined to die because of Lancelot. The rest of me will go on without her. In the end, it's all up to you... Draco.”

He reached for her hand, pulling her into a silent waltz. “My name is Lancelot.”

She followed him around the tree, her mind at odds with herself. He wasn't showing so much as a moment's hesitation, no indication that he was even surprised by the revelations that plagued her. As her body danced and twirled, her mind found the solution.

“How long have you known who I was?” she asked, slightly breathless.

“I figured it out a couple weeks after I became Lancelot.”

“And you don't care?”

He grinned. “When we're here, you're the Lady and I'm the knight. What else matters?”

She laughed. “Nothing at all, it seems.”

She had been wrong. Nothing had changed, and they were the same people they had always been. The real world couldn't touch them here. She felt her strength returning, rising to match his. Their whirling churned the snow at their feet, but the balance and poise of nobility let them keep their balance as the ground turned slick.

Caught in a fantasy world where they could wear any face, they flowed between personalities freely. If in one moment they were enemies, the next could find them in the grip of romance. Whenever she was innocent and shy, he was her protector. If she was bold, he became dauntless to match her strength.

They were cold and cruel, they were warm and gentle, they were high and mighty, they were meek and humble.

Beneath the Willow, they were anything they wished.

_**End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for Chapter 5 is Castle Down by Emilie Autumn.

**Author's Note:**

> The song used here is Willow by Emilie Autumn.
> 
> My profile will have a link to playlist that contains the songs from the story.


End file.
